


Kiss with a Fist.

by anniespinkhouse



Category: New Blood (TV)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniespinkhouse/pseuds/anniespinkhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic picks up after series one in Rash and Stefan's flat. Stefan comes home in a crop top and booty shorts, but it isn't the outfit which surprises Rash. Stefan is behaving out of character and Rash is a detective. He works it out. Awkward British comfort ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss with a Fist.

**Author's Note:**

> The scene where Leese sexually harassed Stefan and Stefan's reaction to it bothered me. I felt that there was an unpleasant experience lurking in Stefan's past. The idea kept scratching away at me until this fic was written.
> 
> Disclaimer: New Blood and it's characters do not belong to me. I'm playing in Anthony Horowitz's wonderful sandbox for fun and not profit.

It wasn’t the outfit which surprised Rash. Let's face it, Stefan really dug the James Bond aspect of his job. Rash had seen him in boiler suits, a Versace tuxedo and a pilot’s uniform. The idiot had even managed to look hot in an authentic cowboy hat and chaps for a western re-enactment.

If those clothes somehow managed to find a place in Stefan’s closet then Rash was not about to kiss and tell. If there had been times when a little too much Rekty spirit, some drunken dress-up and a shit-eating grin from Stefan had led to a little more than a kiss – fumbling fingers flipping buttons and hot hands around eager hard flesh – then that wasn’t to be discussed either. Mates helped each other out, and if life sucked, with all work and no chance to play then a little mutual masturbation wasn’t a big deal, right?

No, the outfit looked good on Stefan. He rocked a cute purple crop top with the image of a lollipop emblazoned in sparkling sequins, and his booty shorts sat snug on his ass, showcasing miles of leg -all firm thighs and toned calves. Cute black ankle boots were set off with rebelliously loose pink laces.

Stefan slammed the door as he stomped those cute little boots into their flat.

Rash took a second glance, slower this time, from Stefan’s sweat-damp hair, to his kohl smokey eyes and down to the scuffed toes of his boots. He licked his grinning lips and a slight laugh escaped them.

Stefan raised his palm, “Don’t!” he growled between gritted teeth.

It should have been enough and Rash could kick himself for not noticing. He was a detective for god’s sake. Because here’s the thing -Stefan doesn’t stomp. _Never_. Stefan _bounces_. Stefan has goddamn springs in his step. He’s Tigger and Tiggers are wonderful things.

But Rash didn’t notice, so the next thing that left his lips was a growl and an indecent proposal that maybe wasn’t entirely a joke, “Hey, Pretty. Wanna suck my lollipop?”

No, the outfit wasn’t an issue but the well-aimed and heartfelt punch, delivered flawlessly to Rash’s chin was definitely unexpected.

Rash crumpled to their plushly carpeted floor, all air expelled from his lungs, the agonising heat of a bruise already blooming. He’d broken something - he was sure. He wanted to protest, ‘What the hell, Stefan?’ but he didn’t think his mouth would move. He looked up at Stefan instead, shocked and hurting and furious. It was a joke. Stefan should have replied, something sarcastic and witty and they both would have laughed. This violence was undeserved, a bolt out of the blue.

Stefan looked down at him, mouth slightly open, breathing hard. He was different somehow, not animated, his eyes dull yet pooling with tears, not the Stefan that Rash knew. Their eyes met and Stefan fled into his bedroom, trailing a shocked and flimsy “Sorry,” behind him. His door banged shut.

Rash sat up, his hand cupped his chin, testing the structure. It seemed to be in one piece. He huffed wordlessly, still in shock before gradually getting to his feet and taking wobbly steps to the kitchen to retrieve painkillers and a pack of frozen peas for his face.

A hospital drama was probably not the show to watch right then, Rash didn’t need competition for his suffering but he couldn't be bothered to change the channel. When the show was finished he flicked through the channels and frowned, realising how long Stefan had been shut in his room. He removed the frozen peas and tested his jaw again. It ached but objectively he’d taken worse sparring and on the job. His anger had faded because something had definitely rattled Stefan’s cage. Rash had never seen him like that, panicking and deeply hurt. He glanced over at the closed bedroom door. Stefan had to emerge some time and the longer he left it the more awkward their conversation would be.

Impatience won out. His knuckles rapped gently against the bright white of the door. Two times, three times, without an answer. Rash turned the handle and pushed, “Stefan, I’m coming in, okay?”

A trail led to the bed where Stefan sat with jeans on and chest bare. His hair dripped wet and a steamy haze drifted from his bathroom. Rash knew it took a _long_ shower to raise that sort of steam in this apartment. Rash weaved past boots, a sequin top and teeny shorts to reach him.

Stefan sniffed and looked up at him. He braced himself and presented his chin to Rash, pointed to his face where black kohl smeared down his cheeks and a red tinge to his eyes was evident. “Here have a shot. Hard as you like. I can take it.”

Rash shook his head, "Don't be an idiot." He picked up the shorts and held them up and the mattress bounced as he sat on the bed beside Stefan. “Gay club then?” he mumbled.

“Y’think?”

Well, at least Stefan retained some of his sarcasm. Rash harnessed some of his professionalism, “Stefan, if something happened there, something _unacceptable._ If somebody _hurt you,”_ Rash paused briefly. It made his stomach churn to think of anyone’s hands on Stefan, asking him to do something sexual and wrong that he didn’t want to do, “You have to report it. Undercover or not, if there’s some douche out there doing those things, then he needs to be locked up.”

“No, no!” Stefan shook his head, refuting the suggestion with vigour, “Jesus, nothing happened. I can take care of myself, Rash. I waited tables and eavesdropped some conversations. It’s no big deal.” He stood up and turned his back to walk to the bathroom.

Rash followed him, a little angry again now, “So what? It’s about having to work a gay club?” And, ouch he should remember to be careful when he spoke.

Quick reflexes prevented the bathroom door from shutting Rash out. “Jesus, don’t you ever give up? It’s not about the gay. I’m fine with gay. Hell, yes, power to the whole lgbtqa. Now leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“What if I need to piss?”

“Go on then.”

“You’re an ass, Rash.” There was just a little of Stefan’s usual bite in the insult.

Water splashed on the mirror. Rash leaned against the cool tiled wall, his arms crossed, listening to the hum of the fan and watching Stefan’s cloudy reflection as he scrubbed the kohl from his face with moisturiser. He wasn’t gentle, the skin around his eyes becoming almost as red as the inner rim. _Punishing himself?_ Rash wondered.

Stefan swiped a hand over the mirror and spoke at Rash’s reflection. “You’re creepy, y’know that?” 

“And you’re lying. Something happened tonight. You can trust me. I can look into it, on the quiet. Nobody has to know it was you.”

“Maybe I didn’t like the way you spoke to me."

“That’s crap! I speak to you like that all the time. We joke like that all the time.”

Stefan's voice shook, "I didn't like it." He pushed past Rash, back into the bedroom, grabbed a plain tee shirt from the closet and pulled it on. 

Rash felt his cheeks colour with shame. He never meant to demean anybody like that even if he was sure that there was more to it than an asshole comment. “Look. I'm sorry. It was supposed to be funny."

“Fine. Are you going to follow me around all night?”

"Until you tell me what’s going on; I mean the whole story, yeah, probably.”

Shoulders dropped, defeated, “Look, Rash. It’s not what you think. It was nothing. Nothing happened tonight. It was just old creeps getting handsy and hitting on me. That shit freaks me out but I can handle it.”

Rash listened, he heard every word and inflection. His detective-mind stuttered on Stefan’s ‘nothing happened _tonight_.’ He quirked his lip anyway, a light-hearted gesture. “Sorry for being an old creep.”

A half smile was returned, a parody of Stefan’s usual bright grin, “Yeah, well, sorry for hitting you. Is there any dinner left. I’m starving.”

It was suddenly important to make it special. At 3 a.m. they sat at a table, with placemats and napkins and Rash fussed over serving a microwave lasagne on china with a chilled chardonnay.

Stefan loudly scraped the last from his plate, sat back and burped, “You’re not bad for an old creep y’know.”

Rash laughed and then leaned in, close to Stefan’s face, “Here he said, licking a corner of his napkin before bringing his hand to Stefan’s face and gently wiping it, “There was some kohl...”

“I thought you were going to kiss me,” Stefan spoke quietly, seriously.

“Would you punch me again?”

“Nah. It would be cool.” He scraped his chair across the floor, got up and headed for the couch before Rash could react. “Is there any Rekty spirit? I think Jan left some Rekty here.” He found a bottle on a shelf and showed it to Rash with a grin. “Well, come on then.” He bounced down onto the sofa, dipped his hand between the cushions to find the T.V. remote and tossed it to Rash. “You choose, but nothing girly.”

Rash sat next to him, close enough that the warm flesh of their arms touched. Stefan took a mouthful of Rekty and passed the bottle to Rash who grimaced as he swallowed, then wiped his mouth and the neck of the bottle before handing it back. He put his hand on Stefan’s free hand, stroked a gentle circle, and Stefan didn’t object. “Sometimes, in my line of work, there are people who have been hurt by those creepy old perverts. Maybe they were children or perhaps they were caught off guard,” he broached the subject quietly and calm.

Stefan looked away from him. He took a large swig of Rekty.

“And we have therapists and counsellors who they can talk to. I’m told that they’re good, that they’ve helped others. You can be referred. I could refer you. Nobody would need to know.”

“You would know.”

“Stefan...”

The smooth glass of the bottle pressed into his hand. “Drink,” Stefan insisted.

Rash took another swig.

“It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge."

No, it was water in Stefan's eyes, welling up only to be blinked back a second later, a single tear wiped from his cheek. Rash's stomach twisted. He had dealt with the aftermath of sexual assaults but he'd never had to watch the pain of it in somebody he loved. He could never have imagined how helpless it made him feel.

Stefan watched for his reaction, swallowed and countered with a defiant protest, "I’m not damaged and it’s not why I want to kiss you. I like you. You look after me. It would be hot. No strings.”

Fiery liquid bubbled in his throat as Rash choked. “We're practically sober. You like me? Like that? ”

Stefan shrugged, “Well, duh - yeah.”

They bumped shoulders and Rash smiled, “You’re an idiot. You need somebody to look after you. I don’t think you’re damaged, but you should talk to somebody, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll talk, give me their number in the morning." 

"Promise?”

"Ugh. I will."

"Promise."

"Okay! Stop nagging. I promise."

Rash sighed with relief and quirked an eyebrow at him, “Do you still want to kiss me? Do you think _you_ can handle _me_?”

Stefan didn’t answer, simply curled his hand around the back of Rash’s neck and pulled him in. The sting of alcohol burned on his lips and Stefan’s mouth fit perfectly to his. It was comfort and heat and passion and worth the ache of his bruised face. If their strings were getting a little tangled, then Rash would deal with it. Later.

***

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments are candy for my soul.


End file.
